Deep Dark Secrets
by Scribble2Much
Summary: There are some things Sam can't tell anyone, not even Dean. Inspired by PostSecret. Companion piece to "The Awful Truth".
1. Things You Never Say

**Deep Dark Secrets**

**Summary: **There are some things Sam can't tell anyone, not even Dean. Inspired by PostSecret.

**A/N: **I was introduced to PostSecret late last year. The minute I started reading the secrets I knew I had to use the concept in a Supernatural fic. This is the result. I hope you enjoy.

**A/N: **This is for everyone who told me they missed my fics while I was on a little "hellatus". Your encouragement has meant a lot to me. It's great to be writing again.

* * *

><p><strong>ONE<strong>

**Things You Never Say**

It seemed like the perfect solution.

I came across it by accident when I was doing research on a baffling case involving a sleepwalking serial killer.

I was googling "secret societies" and with one click on the wrong link I ended up on the website, _The Secret Place_.

The first posting jumped out at me.

"_I cannot tell my husband his brother is the real father of our youngest son." _

The second one floored me.

"_I pulled the plug on my Mom's life support because I wanted to be rid of the old witch once and for all."_

By the third one, I was speechless: _"When my big brother came back from Iraq without both legs, I finally got the justice I'd been praying for since the night he raped me." _

One hour later I was completely engrossed. All these people who had kept their secrets deep inside for so long that they had to let them out and found the best means of relief was to tell a bunch of total strangers.

The site's founder said thousands of unsigned postcards came from all over the world. I guess people can find some sense of relief in a means of exposure that affords the protection of anonymity.

Reading through the site gave me a strange sense of comfort.

I wasn't alone.

Across the world there were thousands of people like me, with secrets so dark and so deep, they could never utter them to another human being.

No one in the world would ever be as close to me or mean as much to me as my big brother. But there were things I'd done and felt that I couldn't even tell Dean.

So stalking that site became a kind of therapeutic indulgence. I wanted to know what people were ashamed of, what they were hiding and what they'd rather die than expose. But mostly, I think I just wanted to know if anyone was a bad as me.

I'd wait until Dean had gone out drinking or hustling, or when he was deep in sleep, and then I'd go to _The Secret Place._ I'd comfort myself with the thought that I wasn't the only one who had experienced things I couldn't bring myself to speak about.

And then it happened; a hunt that hit too close to home.

A family with two sons; the youngest possessed by a demon and the oldest refusing to accept that his little brother was anything but good. The mother in stubborn denial even in the face of overwhelming evidence. The father, fast losing his grip as he struggled to differentiate between black and white amidst the conscience-numbing shades of gray.

When Dean and I found ourselves in the middle of a deadly family confrontation, things got very bad, very quickly.

The demon boy stood with a lit torch threatening to set the house on fire. Then the mother shot the father as he was attempting to stab their youngest with a silver sword. Demon boy ran for the basement screaming he would blow us all to hell. Big brother ran to the father trying and failing to stop the bleeding. The mother ran after her youngest, begging him for mercy.

And smelling death with every sense within me, I grabbed my brother and ran from the house, panic propelling me to top speed. We barely made it to the road before the house blew sky high and the force of the explosion flung us to the ground.

The drive back to the motel passed in the gut-wrenching silence. When Dean pulled into the parking lot he waited, impatiently, for me to get out.

"I'll see you later," he said brusquely when I didn't move fast enough.

I didn't want him to leave me alone, after what we'd been through tonight. Even if we didn't say a word to each other I wanted him close by. I needed my big brother near me, reassuring me that he didn't resent me for costing him everything.

To be hurriedly deposited in a barely lit motel parking lot so he could find fleeting solace in the arms of a stranger or at the bottom of a bottle was cutting me deep. I wanted to grab his hand from the steering wheel and beg him not to leave.

I needed my big brother who had saved my life as an infant and saved my sanity when I lost Jess. After contending with blood and fire, demons and death I wanted my big brother to tell me that everything would be alright.

And although I couldn't bring myself to actually say any of this to Dean, as I watched the Impala pull out of the parking lot, I felt rejected, abandoned and alone.

Storming to the room and slamming the door didn't make me feel any better; but booting up my computer did. A few clicks and I was at _The Secret Place, _but my eyes were so clouded with tears, I couldn't even see the screen. Tonight, reading other people's shame and fear of disgrace just wasn't enough. Tonight I needed to share the things I'd kept buried deep inside.

Before I could reconsider, I created a new document and began to type.

_A month before I left for Stanford, Dad and I were on the trail of a particularly nasty werewolf. The wolf had Dad cornered in a cave and when I got to him, I aimed my gun but waited several moments before firing. Dad tore into me for freezing under pressure. But I didn't freeze, I hesitated. I thought about what it would be like if he was gone and I was finally free to live my own life. That same night, I decided to go to Stanford. I had to get away before I did something I'd regret for the rest of my life._

* * *

><p><em>There's a recurring dream I have when I fall asleep hurting and frightened after a gruelling hunt. I find myself at a crossroads with a beautiful demon who wants to make a deal. I can get Jess back, alive and well. I can have what I've always dreamed off; happiness, safety, success. All I have to do is promise to give up hunting and never have any form of contact with Dean ever again. And sometimes, in my dreams, I say yes.<em>

* * *

><p><em>In the months after Dean came back from hell, when I saw him broken and haunted from his time down there; I wished with all my soul, that we could go back to Cold Oak and this time around, he would just let me die.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Just before Dean got to me at the convent, right after I broke the last seal, Ruby whispered in my ear and told me she was pregnant. I knew she was carrying my child my when I held her so Dean could kill her. My union with Ruby had already brought on the end of the world. I didn't want to know what other hellish nightmare we had created.<em>

* * *

><p>I don't think I typed for more than fifteen minutes, but it may as well have been a lifetime because by the time I finished, I was exhausted. I looked away from the screen and used both hands wipe away the steady stream of tears that had been trickling down my face. I breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm the rapid fire of my heart.<p>

I'm not sure what I would have done next but I was stopped in my tracks by the shrill buzzing of my ring tone. A strange mixture of relief and anticipation surged through my veins when the caller ID revealed it was Dean.

"Hey," I said, ensuring my voice betrayed none of my anxiety.

A heavy, hesitant silence hung on the line for several moments before Dean replied.

"So," he also seemed to be making a great effort to sound casual. "I was thinking we could go get something to eat."

Sighing silently, I closed my eyes; grateful beyond measure for Dean's big brother intuition or whatever the hell it was that always clued him in when I needed him most.

"How about a stiff drink first," I offered.

"Sounds like a plan. I'm five minutes away."

I hung up the phone and glanced briefly at my laptop screen.

There would be no postcards to _The Secret Place _from me.

Anonymous our not, my secrets were not going to be shared with strangers.

No matter how much I needed catharsis, these thoughts should never have seen the light of day.

I shut down the computer without saving the document; and foolishly, I thought that was the end of the matter.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Disturbing Insights

**A/N: **I'm really thrilled at the response to this story. Thanks so much for the reviews, alerts and favourites. This is for everyone who's been anxiously awaiting chapter two. Happy reading.

* * *

><p><strong>TWO<strong>

**Disturbing Insights **

Sammy didn't get wasted often. So tonight, when it was clear he intended to out drink every last man in the smoky little bar where we ended up, I sat back and let him.

I drank just enough to take the edge off the after effects of the hunt from hell. But I stopped way ahead of my limit knowing that baby brother was going to need a chaperone as he blew past his.

Predictably, I literally had to carry Sammy home and put him to bed, but I didn't mind. Some jobs take a harrowing toll. So if Sam needed to deal with this one by taking a liquored trip to oblivion, the least I could do was make sure he travelled safely.

As soon as I settled him down, he was out for the count, so I dropped down on my own bed meaning to follow him into dreamland. However, what seemed like hours later, I was still listening to my little brother snore as I lay on my back in the pitch dark room.

I decided against TV because I didn't want to risk waking Sam. It was a small miracle that he was even sleeping after tonight's little trip to the Twilight Zone, and I didn't want to disturb his rest. So when boredom overtook me, I turned on the dull lamp on the motel room table and booted up the laptop to surf myself into sleepiness.

"Your system was not shut down properly," a small box in the centre of the screen informed me. "Do you want to restore your last session?"

Whatever, I rolled my eyes and clicked "yes", marvelling that the computer was just as nerdy as its owner. I remember at some point Sam had told me, with pride, that he had installed some kind of software that gave his laptop OCD. But apparently it worked because without my intervention the internet browser launched, bringing up some site called "The Secret Place."

I meant to close it out and go to one of my more interesting sites, but after a casual scan the "The Secret Place" grabbed my attention so I started reading. I was so entranced, that when Sam's geeky software flashed another message at me, I quickly clicked away so I could keep reading the posts.

The stuff was absolutely captivating. People who weren't brave enough to tell their secrets to anyone they knew, suddenly found the courage to confess to the world.

Some of the stuff was heartbreaking.

_My Daddy was my hero, until I heard the sounds coming from my brother's room at night. _

Some of it was a little freaky.

_At my best friend's wedding I kept my mouth shut when the priest asked if anyone objected to the marriage. I didn't think that she or anyone else was ready to hear that the Maid of Honour was in love with the bride. _

And then there was stuff that was just plain twisted.

_I pretended to be devastated when my twin sister died but once she was gone I felt unique for the first time in my life. _

I shook my head as I read through the collection of failings, nightmares and troubles. It didn't take a genius to figure out why Sam found this site interesting; this stuff was enough to pull in even the purest of souls.

I'm not sure how much time I spent sifting through the juicy revelations but if this was what I was depending on to put me to sleep I may as well be drinking espresso. I only stopped reading because I knew if I didn't force myself to shut down and call it a night, I'd be a wreck in the morning.

As soon as I closed the browser, another screen flashed up at it me. "A word document has been recovered," it said. "Do you want to save the document?"

Immediately I clicked yes; Sam had probably been taking notes while he did some research and forgot to save the document. Lucky for Geek Boy, he has an awesome big brother who'd ensure his hard work didn't end up in the permanent recycle bin.

A small box popped up asking me to name the document, so I quickly scanned the first few lines to get an idea of what Sammy was working on. Within a few seconds I found myself gaping at the screen.

_A month before I left for Stanford, Dad and I were on the trail of a particularly nasty werewolf. The wolf had Dad cornered in a cave and when I got to him, I aimed my gun but waited several moments before firing. Dad tore into me for freezing under pressure. But I didn't freeze, I hesitated. I thought about what it would be like if he was gone and I was finally free to live my own life. That same night, I decided to go to Stanford. I had to get away before I did something I'd regret for the rest of my life._

My stomach grabbed as I stared at the words in that curly font Sam liked to use because he claimed it was easy on his eyes. I swallowed hard trying to process what I had just read. I rubbed my eyes hard to ensure my vision wasn't deceiving me.

Sam had written this? My little brother had felt so much resentment towards Dad that he actually thought twice about saving his life?

I looked across the barely lit room and saw that Sam had started tossing a little restlessly in his sleep. I guess my little brother had been reading other people's secrets and was inspired to do some confessing of his own.

Ironically, I still had vivid memories of that particular werewolf hunt because it triggered a family fight that was pretty messy even by Winchester standards. Dad had given me the night off to recover from a bad fever so I hadn't been there for the moment of truth. But when Dad and Sammy got back from the hunt Dad was literally jumping down Sam's throat for choking under pressure. I had braced myself for an epic shouting match but Sam had been uncharacteristically quiet.

Dad's anger and disappointment had been palpable but Sam had remained unresponsive in the face of an A1 John Winchester tirade. Finally, when Dad had yelled himself hoarse and stormed out of the motel room, Sam and I were left alone.

As soon as the door slammed, Sam fell apart. He slumped down onto his bed like his knees had given out under him and covered his face with his hands. I was at his side in two seconds and was surprised to find that he was shaking uncontrollably.

I'd reached out, trying to sooth him, but the contact just set off a wave of hysterics.

"I'm sorry," Sam had whispered over and over again, oblivious to all my attempts to comfort him.

When I finally managed to pull his hands away from his face, he'd looked at me with desperate fear in his eyes.

"Don't hate me Dean," he had begged. "Please don't hate me."

There was no way I was going to sit there and let my little brother feel bad about himself because he stumbled under the burden of having Dad's life in his hands. Whatever may have happened, Sam obviously came through in the end because Dad had lived to bawl him out.

"Dad's an idiot Sammy," I had reassured softly. "Anyone can freeze when it's all on the line. We're only human."

But my sympathy had only revved up Sam's desperation.

"Please don't hate me Dean," was all he would say like he was genuinely fearful that I was capable of that.

Feeling helpless, I had pulled him against me and let him rest his head on my shoulder. Back then, I was still slightly bigger and could manage to tuck Sam into my chest. As soon as I put my arms around him, he broke down crying.

I'd held him until he cried himself out, whispering continuously that I could never hate him. It had been years since Sam had allowed himself to be so vulnerable with me or let me care for him like that. But obviously the bashing he had taken from Dad had left him too overwhelmed to keep up the trademark Winchester bravado.

At the time I had thought he was ashamed that cracks were showing in the unbreakable protective shell that Dad had insisted we create to be effective soldiers. But now, I realised that his shame went much deeper than that. My little brother had seen something in himself that night that terrified him so much that he felt the only solution was to run away. Sam had seen a side of himself that was so dark, he felt he couldn't share it with anybody; not even me.

I turn my head again to look at my sleeping sibling who was now starting to toss agitatedly. From past experience, I was certain he was having a nightmare and instinctively, I wanted to wake him up.

But overriding my protective instincts was the deep need to find out what the hell else Sam had been hiding. And I knew if I woke him up now my chances of reading the rest of his writings were slim to none. But a prickly feeling, I instantly recognised as guilt was sending shivers down my spine. I glanced back at the computer but as soon as my eyes landed on the screen I looked away. Did I really want to know what other dark secrets Sam was keeping inside? Would the rest of his revelations be even more shocking than this one?

Shrugging off the apprehension, I turned my attention back to the laptop and scrolled the cursor downwards to bring up more text. I was about to start reading again when Sam called out my name.

Abruptly I turned around only to see him bolt upright and look straight at me, his eyes wide with shock and fear.

My heart stopped.

I'd been caught, red-handed.

* * *

><p><strong>TO BE CONTINUED<strong>


	3. Painful Revelations

**THREE**

**Painful Revelations**

**A/N: **Forall my reviewers and those who gave me alerts and favourites. Thanks for the love.

* * *

><p>It seemed bitterly ironic that a fearless hunter like me would have survived everything from hell to heaven only to die of heart attack because my little brother caught me snooping. But when Sam woke suddenly out of his restless sleep, calling out my name, I knew my heart was a millisecond away from giving out.<p>

I grabbed my chest as the pounding and fluttering went into overdrive when my little brother looked at me with shock and horror filled eyes.

But when he called for me the second time, everything changed.

After almost thirty years of hearing Sam say the word "Dean", I'd learnt to decipher every intonation of my name. My own guilt had made me interpret the first "Dean" as a reprimand. But when he repeated the call a few seconds later, I instantly recognised the rendition of my name. It was the, "I'm scared and I need my big brother" version.

Even more telling was the dazed look in Sam's eyes as he called for me. I don't think he even registered that I was at his laptop much less delving into his innermost thoughts.

Relief had me rising to my feet instantly while my hunter's instinct for self preservation had me switching off the dull lamp that illuminated the table. In one swift move I quietly closed the laptop and went to Sam's bedside where I turned on another light, taking us out of the darkness I had used to cover my tracks.

"Hey Sammy," I said softly, sitting down on the bed beside him.

"Dean?" he grabbed my shoulders and held tight as if he was gripping me to ensure that I was solid.

His intonation had changed again; this time it betrayed uncertainty, like he didn't trust that I was real.

"Right here," I kept my voice gentle, trying not to do anything that would frighten him. "It was just a nightmare, that's all."

Sam's right hand grasped my left cheek, his eyes met mine and he held my gaze for several moments before sighing heavily and releasing me.

"Bad one?" I asked, as if it wasn't obvious.

"The worst," Sam whispered, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

I knew the drill.

"Fire?" I asked, softly.

He nodded and looked at me with such a helpless expression that my six foot, four, two hundred plus pound, little brother suddenly seemed so fragile it tore my heart.

"It was only a dream," I tried to keep my tone soothing.

"Dean…" this intonation told me that Sammy was feeling hurt and confused and needed big brother to anchor him.

"We can't save everybody," I recited the hunter's motto of absolution.

"It's not just that," Sam insisted looking down at his lap. "Dean, that family..."

"Hey," I cut him off, and then gently shifted his chin so our eyes were level again. "It's not the same."

It hadn't been easy for me either watching another family being torn apart by a demon and then relieving the horror of fleeing from fire. But a few hours and a few drinks later, I had concluded that in a world with very few happy endings you simply had to cut your losses. And under the circumstances, a situation where no one was left to live with the bitterness, the regret and the destructive desire for revenge, was probably the best resolution to the whole screwed up scenario.

But, my guilt-ridden little brother, who saw himself as the root cause of everything that ever went wrong in the world, and more so, everything that ever went wrong in our family, wouldn't be appeased by my line of reasoning.

So I tried a different tactic.

"Look it sucks what happened, O.K. But don't get it twisted. Their situation has nothing to do with us. And we weren't under some divine obligation to rescue them. We did our best, just like we always do but this time it didn't work out."

"You can't pretend that you can just shake this one off Dean."

"Why not?"

"A family with two boys and the younger one possessed by a demon? You can't tell me that this one didn't hit close to home."

"Well I'm telling you it didn't. It's not the same Sam."

"It is Dean. Just like us, it came down to the fact that one child ruined everyone's life."

"No! Crap happens Sammy and you just have to deal with it."

"And all the crap that's ever happened to you, ties back to the day I was born."

"That's a freaking lie Sam."

"Is it really? Can you look me in the face and tell me, **truthfully**, that part of you doesn't resent me?"

"Resent you for what?"

"For messing up your life. For costing you Mom and Dad and any chance at real happiness."

"OK look, this hunt sucked, ten ways to hell, then you drank half your weight in liquor and to top it off, you had a nightmare, so I'm going to chalk all of this up to the fact that you're borderline hysterical now."

"Dean, just tell me the truth."

"Look, you obviously need some kind of closure and that's the only reason why I'll even dignify your stupid question with an answer; but I'm only going to say this one time. You've always been a colossal pain in the butt. Half the time I want to kill you and the other half I just want to beat you into a coma but I **have ****never****,** and **will ****never** resent you. Are we clear on that?"

"Dean..." He was pleading now, and in need of reassurance, so I softened my voice and I looked him dead in the eyes.

"I will never resent you Sammy. Are we clear on that?"

I waited, impatiently, for his response because now, I was the one who needed a little reassuring. I had to know that after everything we'd been through and done for each other my little brother truly understood that I wouldn't give him up for anything.

"We're clear," Sam said, exhaling with a deep sigh.

And because he seemed to be struggling to keep it together I pulled him to me and held on for a moment.

"Alcohol is supposed to make you happy while you're awake and then keep you knocked out when you sleep," I teased, trying to exit the little soap opera scene with a little humour.

"If anyone would know that, you would," Sam shot back, obviously trying to save face too.

"So you wanna give it another try and see if you can do it right this time?"

"The drinking or the sleeping?"

"At this stage, I think we should stick with the sleeping."

"Agreed. I'm wasted."

"Good," I got up and before I could catch myself, I'd fluffed up his pillows and pulled up his blankets. I guess if Sammy was going to act like a six-year-old I may as well treat him like one.

"Night, night, princess," I said giving his hair a quick ruffle.

"Shut up," Sam muttered snuggling down under the covers.

"For that you won't get a bedtime story."

It did my heart good to hear Sam chuckle as I moved over to my own bed. I felt even better less than ten minutes later when I heard him breathing evenly again. I sat watching as sleep took him under, hoping he'd at least stay down for a good few hours this time.

By now, I was wired and restless with very little chance of shutting down for what was left of the night. It bothered me that at this stage of our lives Sam still had doubts about how I felt about him. I glanced curiously at the laptop, wondering what other secrets Sam had written down. Maybe if I knew all the things he was feeling so bad about I could help him to get over them.

So for these unselfish reasons, I went back to the table and opened up the computer. Once it buzzed back to life, the document that contained my brother's deepest secrets stared at me from the screen. I was only reading it to help Sammy. I didn't want him to be plagued by misplaced guilt, especially if it had to do with anything that had gone down between me and him. As had been the tradition all our lives, big brother would have to rescue him from his inner demons … again.

But as soon as I started reading again, I realised that I was the one who would need rescuing.

_There's a recurring dream I have when I fall asleep hurting and frightened after a gruelling hunt. I find myself at a crossroads with a beautiful demon who wants to make a deal. I can get Jess back, alive and well. I can have what I've always dreamed off; happiness, safety, and success. All I have to do is promise to give up hunting and never have any form of contact with Dean ever again. And sometimes, in my dreams, I say yes._

My stomach clenched as if a gorilla in iron boots had kicked it in.

What the hell did he mean he said "Yes"?

Yes to Jessica and no to me, his own brother?

Yes to normal and some lame Hollywood-fuelled notion of the All-American ideal, even if it meant I was totally out of the picture?

For all we had been through my little brother would actually sell me out for a picket-fence life?

For the second time tonight my heart started racing and my breath could only come in gasps.

How the hell could Sammy even think this?

Suddenly, everything inside was begging me to stop reading and turn off the damn computer before I saw more stuff I couldn't handle. But I was in too deep to turn back now. I needed to know how my little brother really felt about me so, I kept reading.

_In the months after Dean came back from hell, when I saw him broken and haunted from his time down there; I wished with all my soul, that we could go back to Cold Oak and this time around, he would just let me die._

That one stung like a hundred needles being inserted into an open wound.

Didn't he understand that I could never just let him die?

Didn't he know that if I had the choice again I'd still face hell to save him?

My fingers were trembling as I slowly swiped the touchpad to move the page down. I didn't care what else Sam wrote, nothing could tear me up like what I'd already read.

Defiantly, I looked back at the screen, daring Sam to try and hurt me again.

I should have known better than to throw down that gauntlet. The sad truth is, when someone means the world to you, they not only have the power to hurt but to destroy.

_Just before Dean got to me at the convent, right after I broke the last seal, Ruby whispered in my ear and told me she was pregnant. I knew she was carrying my child my when I held her so Dean could kill her. My union with Ruby had already brought on the end of the world. I didn't want to know what other hellish nightmare we had created._

I closed my eyes and dropped my head, fighting to catch my breath.

It was a long buried dream I'd had as a teenager and no one knew it but me. It was an idle adolescent fantasy from way back when I was foolish enough to think that as soon as Dad caught the demon, him, me and Sammy would settle down and have a normal life.

I'd dreamt of what it would be like when we both grew up and Sam became a father. I wanted him to have a little boy who could make him cave with that same puppy-dog look he'd always used, so effectively, on me. I wanted him to know what it was like to look into the eyes of someone who looked up to you. I wanted someone to make him feel like the superhero he'd always managed to see in me.

But instead of a Disney-inspired fantasy, Sam's first brush with fatherhood had been something sick and twisted. Instead of sweetness and innocence it was just one more way that his demon BFF had wreaked havoc in his life.

There were no more secrets on the page, and it was just as well, because I'd had all I could take.

My eyes may have been stinging and my vision might have been blurry but I absolutely was not crying, even if tears were running down my face. My stomach felt hollow and my breathing was laboured but it's not like I was panicking or even upset.

I just knew I had to get out of that room and away from that motel. I had to put some space between me and my brother, and the sooner, the better.

Ignoring the fact that my hands were shaking, I grabbed my keys and my jacket. And if I was trembling when I stepped out of the motel room and into the early morning light, it was because of the blasted chill in the goddamn air. I wiped my hand across my face roughly, knowing it was wind that was making my eyes water as much as it was the cold that was making me shake.

I closed the room door behind me and walked away from my brother, and at that point, I didn't think I was ever coming back.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Retaliation

**FOUR**

**Retaliation**

I woke up and instantly had the creeping sensation that something was wrong.

For one thing, I was alone; and it wasn't like Dean to not be there in the morning when I'd had a rough night. Immediately, I told myself I was being silly. After all, there probably were a million and one reasons why Dean wasn't around.

Yawning tiredly, I tried to shake off the subtle feeling of unease as I checked the bedside table for a note. But instead of Dean's usual hastily scribbled missive telling me he had gone for breakfast, or on coffee run; all I saw was the chipped porcelain night lamp with the florescent bulb.

Next, I checked my cell phone which I found in the pocket of my hoodie which had been flung over the side of my bed. I could vaguely recall Dean helping me out of the jacket when he had brought me home from our little drinking binge. But the phone gave no additional clues as to my brother's whereabouts. There was no text, no voicemail, no missed calls, no sign of any form of contact from Dean.

The slight unease was stepping up to growing concern. Kicking off my tangle of blankets and getting out of bed, I hit Dean's number on speed dial. I was taken totally off guard when I heard his classic rock ringtone firing off in the otherwise silent room.

Concern was now escalating to full blown worry.

Dean wouldn't just take off without leaving a message and he wouldn't have left his cell phone behind.

Something was wrong.

Wrestling with mounting panic, I went to get Dean's phone which was sitting on the small table we had both been using as a desk. I grabbed the handset and searched the call logs to see if anyone had been in touch with Dean earlier today.

The last call had been from me and that had been yesterday afternoon before our ill-fated hunt.

I looked around the room and saw Dean's duffle was still on the ground beside his bed where he had tossed it carelessly after we had checked in yesterday morning. I checked the bathroom and his shaving kit and other stuff were still sitting on the counter by the sink. But when I opened the room door and checked the parking lot, the Impala was gone.

None of this was adding up; but at this point, there was nothing I could do but wait.

So I went to my computer to check email, surf and kill some time until Dean came back. The moment he got here I was gonna tear into him for taking off like this and making me worry. I was mentally planning my little lecture when I glanced down at my laptop. It had been left up and running and when I saw the screen, I froze.

My own words, glared at me, piercing me with a frightening sense of condemnation.

I shook my head in disbelief, refusing to accept what I was seeing.

I hadn't saved this file. It should have automatically been deleted when I'd switched off my computer. I never should have even thought or felt these things much less committed them to any form of record. And having made the mistake of writing them down, I'd meant to erase them, condemning them to my own internal, emotional abyss.

Horrified, I stared at the computer, and quickly realised how things had gone awry. The frightening words "Recovered Document" sneered at me, from the titled bar at the top of screen.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had gone down.

And now, my brother, the one person in the world who I knew would be hurt the most by what I'd written, knew all the shameful details of my darkest secrets.

_Damn! _

I slammed my fist down on the table and wasn't even alarmed when I heard the cheap wood crack.

Mortification sent me into an uncontrollable rage of psychotic proportions and I lashed out at anything I could find. The first casualty was a wooden chair which I grabbed and hurled against a wall. Next I went to work on the matching chair, beating it against the floor until only the backrest was left intact.

I yanked the bedside lamp out of the wall and flung it in a corner. Then I kicked after Dean's duffle, missed my footing and stumbled to the floor. Exhausted, I sat on the ground gasping, eyes squeezed shut and stomach clenched as I was gripped by a crushing sense of shame.

How the hell would I ever face my brother again?

The last person I would have shared any of those secrets with was Dean.

It wasn't that I didn't trust him; it was that I knew just how deeply everything I had thought and felt would hurt him.

Dean was the only person I ever truly felt comfortable confiding in; but these were thoughts and feelings that would only cause him unnecessary pain. That's why I'd tried so hard to keep them hidden. That's why I never admitted them to anyone but myself. I had been a goddamn fool to think that I could have somehow unburdened myself through anonymous revelations. Instead, writing out my secrets had done the very thing that I feared most; it had driven Dean away from me.

I didn't shower, didn't eat and couldn't stay still for the entire day. I sat out in the car park for what seemed like forever hoping that every car that drove in would be the Impala. I called all the contacts we had been in touch with recently and even a few from the distant past; no one had heard from Dean. I kept his phone and mine beside me, desperately willing any of them to ring.

Finally, at nightfall, I went back into the room, fresh out of ideas.

And then it struck me.

I blocked my caller IB and dialled Dad's old cell phone that I knew Dean kept in the Impala's glove compartment. When it rang out, I hit redial. After several agonizing rings, Dean answered.

"Dean," I sighed, relieved to hear his voice. "Where are you?"

There was a brief, tense silence.

"What's it to you?" There was no attempt to mask the anger in his voice.

"Don't mess around," I said heatedly. "I wake up and you're MIA, no note, no phone call? You scared the hell out of me."

I waited for him to respond but he didn't. When I couldn't take the silence any longer I cut to the chase.

"Dean, I know what you read and we really need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about Sam. I think you said it all."

My stomach hollowed as I was again overwhelmed with humiliation. Breathing out hard to stem the shame I tried again.

"Look Dean. I know it couldn't have been easy for you to read those things but I'd like a chance to explain."

"There's nothing to explain Sam. If that's how you feel, then that's how you feel. I'm not crying over it."

"So why did you run off without saying anything? If it doesn't matter why'd you bail on me?"

"Maybe I'm just giving you what you really want."

"And what exactly do you think that is?"

"A nice, safe, peaceful life ... without me."

"Dean, give me a chance to explain," I begged.

"You're under no obligation to explain anything to me. In fact, I've decided to grant your wish and get the hell out of your life. That is what you want isn't it Sam? Oh I forgot your precious girlfriend's out of the picture. No chance at your wonderful life now. Tough luck, college boy."

Any plans I had to beg for reconciliation were cancelled with immediate effect. Dean had seen, first hand, how Jessica's death had almost destroyed me and he had been the only reason I'd survived. My brother had been my strength when I was at my weakest. He had gotten me through the mother of all meltdowns and now he was going to turn around and throw it in my face.

"Go to hell Dean," I yelled, not the bit perturbed that, all things considered, it was a damn poor choice of words.

My brother's bitter laugh signalled that the blow had hit the target.

"You more than anyone else should know I've been there Sam and even that wasn't good enough for you."

"That wasn't what I meant," I shouted. I realised that I was spiralling out of control but I never could keep a rein on my anger when Dean got belligerent like this. "You're twisting everything."

"If anything is twisted it's all those things you felt Sam."

"Maybe, but they're things you never would have known if you'd had the decency to respect my privacy Dean."

"You've got a damn nerve trying to lecture me about decency."

"And you've got a damn nerve to get all indignant over things that you only found out because you're no better than a damn eavesdropper."

When Dean didn't respond, I pressed my advantage.

"You had no right to read that stuff Dean. You invaded my privacy and now you want to punish me because you don't like what you saw. To hell with you."

"Well we can call an end to this conversation and everything else between us, because I'm about ready to walk away."

"No Dean. If anything I wrote hurt you then you need to face it like a man. You tell me to my face and we get it out there and deal with it. We can talk it out, shout it out or go a few rounds but you can't walk out on me like a coward."

"You're the one who's the coward Sam. You felt all these things and you couldn't even tell me."

"Well now you know. So you can either come back here and we deal with it man to man or you can just keep on running. The ball's in your court Dean. It's up to you."

I snapped my phone shut and then flung it across the room.

I dropped down onto my bed, closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands. Before I could stop myself, my eyes were welling up and spilling over.

What the hell had I just done?

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. Handling The Truth

**A/N: **This is for Leigh Ann Wallace, who is always the first to review.

* * *

><p><strong>FIVE<strong>

**Handling The Truth**

When you love someone more than your life, the concept of meeting halfway takes on a whole new meaning. That fact was underscored, yet again, for the Winchester men when Dean drove the Impala back to the motel just before midnight and found Sam waiting in the parking lot.

Sam inhaled apprehensively as he watched the car pull in and come to a stop. A sense of dread enveloped him in the year-long seconds it took Dean to switch of the vehicle and get out.

This was it, Sam realised with a considerable amount of trepidation; he was going to have to face his brother.

When Dean stepped out of the car and saw his brother sitting on the pavement outside their room, he had to stop himself from turning around and driving back out. In their eventful lives they'd had to confront things that would have made the brashest of individuals turn red-faced with shame; but he had no idea how they would handle this.

Unsure and uncomfortable, Dean protected himself by lashing out.

"What the hell are you doing out here in the cold?"

"Waiting," Sam responded coolly; his urge to snap back tempered, somewhat, by his silent relief at his brother's return.

"Well can't you wait inside like a normal person?"

"I tried being normal once remember? It didn't exactly go down well with me."

Realising that a quick comeback would only prolong the sidebar argument, Dean got down to business.

"O.K. look, I'm tired, so let's get this over and done with right now. I really shouldn't have stuck my face in your private business. Whatever you may have thought or felt that's your issue and you're certainly entitled to your privacy."

"I appreciate that," Sam conceded.

"Good. I'm going to bed."

Dean strode past his brother and went into the room. In a split second, Sam was on his feet and heading after him.

"What the hell happened in here?" Dean asked surveying the wreckage throughout their temporary living space. Trashing the place was more his style than Sam's.

"Anger management," Sam said heatedly as re-entered the room and slammed the door behind him.

"Well I hope it did the trick," Dean pealed off his battered denim jacket and tossed it on the table since both chairs were out of commission.

"Not nearly," Sam stepped towards his brother.

"Well get over it," Dean advised, turning away. "I'm hitting the sack."

"Oh no you're not," Sam laid an apprehending hand on his brother's shoulder.

In a swift move Dean swung around and flashed his sibling off.

"Don't touch me," Dean warned, his façade of nonchalance and concession quickly giving way to mounting anger.

"Well," Sam dropped his hand but stood his ground. "So much for O.K."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Dean moved menacingly into Sam's space.

"I want you to be honest," Sam retorted with equal fire. "Stop acting like you don't give a damn and tell me how you really feel."

"I apologised Sam," Dean yelled, determined to shut things down once and for all. "That's the end of it."

"No it's not," Sam didn't flinch. "Not until you tell me why you felt you had the right to invade my privacy."

"I didn't know what the hell I was reading at first. The only reason why I saw the damn thing was that I thought it was notes or something from your research that you'd forgotten to save and I was making sure it wasn't deleted."

"O.K so you were doing your good deed for the year, but once you realised what it was why didn't you stop?"

"Because I wanted to help you!"

"_Help?_"

"Yeah. Between the hunt and all that booze you were pretty messed up last night. When I read what you wrote about Dad and wishing we could get out from under him, I thought considering everything we'd gone through growing up that was understandable. I mean what you felt was pretty extreme but face it; we've all had extreme thoughts when it came to Dad."

"Is that what you really think?" Sam's stomach felt hollow with nerves, but he didn't break eye contact with his brother.

"Yeah," Dean said plainly, the heat in his voice dying down. "I honestly didn't think you should hate yourself for that."

"It scared me Dean," Sam fought to keep his voice steady and not sound like a twelve-year old boy desperate to be told he wasn't a bad person. Turning away from his brother he sat on one of the creaky motel beds. "It scared me so much I knew I had to get out."

"Why didn't you say something?" Dean asked, his own temper diffusing as Sam's anger dissipated. "I wish you'd told me instead of feeling like you had to runaway."

"I knew how you felt about Dad Dean. I didn't want you to hate me."

Exasperated, Dean sat down on the opposite bed so he could face his brother.

"Sam, I'm only going to say this one more time. I'm in capable of hating you, O.K? Nothing is ever going to change that."

Feeling his shame starting to ebb away, Sam made eye contact again. "Thanks Dean," he whispered, feeling strangely like he'd been granted some form of absolution.

Sensing he had the upper hand, Dean tried to get out of the damn awkward argument while the getting was good. "And what I told you was the truth," he assured. "I only read what you wrote because, when you started going on about me resenting you last night, I wondered what else you were beating yourself up about that you weren't responsible for. I thought if I knew I could help."

"But the rest of that stuff doesn't really qualify under that heading now does it?"

_Oh hell! _Dean couldn't believe they were digging even deeper into the crap instead of ending this misguided attempt at psychotherapy while they still had whatever was left of their dignity intact.

"Sam, I stand by what I said, you're entitled to feel however you wanna feel about whatever's gone down. Let's just leave it that."

"You think it's that simple?"

"It is if you don't complicate it. So this therapy session is over, OK. I'm going for a drink and when I get back, I'm getting some sleep."

"A drink? At a time like this?"

Dean got up and grabbed his jacket. "Don't get all bent out of shape Snow White. A Pepsi never killed anybody."

He left the room quickly and found the motel vending machine. He bought a soda he didn't want and took it out to what the motel owner had euphemistically referred to as "the picnic area". The title, hardly lofty in itself, was still an elevated description of the battered wooden benches and scarred tables.

Dean took a seat on the bench that appeared to be the most stable and began nursing the unwanted cola. An extreme sense of irritation surged through his being when he heard the quiet footsteps approaching.

"Damn it Sam," he snapped without even looking around. "I said the discussion was over."

"Yes you said it," Sam slid onto the bench beside his brother. "But I didn't agree."

"I don't care if you agree or not," Dean argued. "Right now I just want some space."

"Do you remember that year after you came back from hell Dean?"

The mere mention of hell and its aftermath made Dean flinch inwardly. He remembered it like it was yesterday but he maintained his facade of invulnerability and stared straight ahead, ostensibly unconcerned.

"What about it?" Dean asked, sounding bored and dismissive.

"We'd both been through so much and we were both feeling a lot about ourselves and each other, but we kept saying that everything was fine."

Even now, Sam still found it hard to talk about that awkward and tumultuous time in their lives. "We kept acting like there was nothing to talk about; like we weren't hurting each other, like we had no issues to settle. And then we woke up one day and we didn't know each other anymore."

"A little melodramatic aren't we Samantha?"

Ignoring the jab, Sam shifted on the bench to look straight at this brother. "After it all hit the fan Dean, I decided that I was never going to let that happen again. I'm not going to let you sit here and act like you don't feel angry or hurt about what you read. And whatever you may be feeling I'm not going to allow it to fester between us. You're all I have left Dean; and nothing's going to take you away from me. Not even you."

He was going to give in, Dean realised with some amount of trepidation. He was going to let Sam drag him into this mire that he wasn't sure either of them would be able to wade their way out of. His greatest weakness, his inability to refuse his little brother anything that Sam truly desired, was going to be Dean's undoing, yet again.

"What do you want me to say Sammy? It's not like it's anything I didn't already know. Of course you'd choose your girlfriend and a nice cushy life over me. You wanted normal, I'm not gonna knock you for that."

"Dean," Sam pleaded. "It's not that I was choosing Jess over you."

"Come on Sam, we both know you're only here with me by default. If everything hadn't gone up in smoke you'd be living the great American, suburban life now."

"That life would have been based on a lie and on denying who I really am."

"Well you were doing OK at it when I found you."

"It may have looked that way because I was desperate to make it work, but I don't know how long I could have kept it up. Dean, as much as I tried to deny it, I needed my family, I needed you."

Dean took a long swallow of soda insisting to himself that it was the cold beverage and the near freezing air that was making him shiver. He bought time by draining the can and then tossing it, but eventually, he had to look at his brother.

"You don't have to say that Sam," he said softly. "Sometimes I can't blame you for wanting out and I'm sorry it didn't work out for you."

Sam held Dean's gaze without flinching. "All things considered, I think I'm pretty damn lucky. How many people do you know who have big brothers who love them enough to die for them?"

Now Dean was the one who couldn't face Sam. He looked away, not trusting himself to hold his brother's gaze.

"I'd do it again," he whispered, as emotion overwhelmed him. "I know part of it is really just selfishness because, no matter what, I'm still not prepared to live without you. But I'd do it again Sam."

"You think I don't know that?" As Sam's eyes filled up he followed his brother's lead and diverted his eyes. "I just wish to God that you'd never had to do it in the first place. I still get cut up every time I think of what you went through Dean; and I still blame myself for it. And I can't help it, but sometimes when I think about Cold Oak, I feel like it would have been better if you'd just let me die."

Dean could hear the tears in his brother's voice, even as he fought to blink back his own.

"If I'd done that Sammy, then I'd have died too."

Now Sam wasn't even pretending. He bowed his head, covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

"Oh come on, Sammy," Dean whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. "We got past all that."

"I'm OK," Sam lied. "I just need a minute."

But Dean knew from experience that he didn't need a minute, he needed his big brother.

"Come here you big girl," Dean half-heartedly tried for a mocking tone but found the words sounded gentle and comforting as they rolled off his lips. He moved towards Sam and slipped an arm around his brother's shoulder. Relief flooded over him when he felt Sam's head settle into the nook of his neck. Hearing Sam sigh, Dean squeezed his shoulder and pulled him closer.

"It still hits me right in the gut whenever I think about it," Sam whispered. "Dean I'd give anything to change it."

"It's not your fault Sammy," Dean soothed. "It was my choice and I'll never regret it."

Dean let his words sink in; praying, with all his heart, that Sam would believe him. This was why even with his anger over seeing Sam's secrets he'd had to come back. When all was said and done nothing mattered to him more than being a big brother.

Leaning into his sibling, Sam savoured the closeness, finding immense comfort in the fact that almost thirty years later he could still lean on Dean. This was why he had waited out in the cold, looking expectantly at every car that drove down the road. He knew his big brother could never walk out on him for good.

They were past the worst, they could both feel it, but an outstanding matter still lingered in the air.

"I panicked when Ruby told me she was pregnant," Sam said, clearly determined to not to rest until every last issue had been dealt with. "I didn't even think about what I was doing."

Dean was now resigned that the talk wouldn't be over until all the dirty linen had been washed, dried and sorted.

"It's O.K. Sam," he insisted. "She'd just tricked you into releasing Lucifer, it's no wonder you couldn't think straight."

"I was so scared it would have been a monster Dean," Sam's voice was riddled with lingering agony. "Everything between me and Ruby was already so messed up and twisted I wanted it to be over."

Instantly Dean decided to play this one differently. There would be no mention of his adolescent fantasy of being "Uncle Dean". Sam felt bad enough as it was and didn't need to be weighed down with the guilt of feeling that he had denied Dean again.

"You didn't kill her Sam, I did."

"I held her so she couldn't get away."

"And even if you hadn't there was no way I was going to let her leave that place alive. That one was on me Sam."

"No Dean. You're always willing to stand between me and whatever's coming my way, but I'm not gonna let you do it this time. I knew she was pregnant when you killed her."

"Demons lie. We have no way of knowing if she really was pregnant."

"But what if she was?"

"Then it wasn't meant to be." Feeling Sam shudder, Dean tightened his hold on his little brother. "I know it's messed up Sam, but just let it go."

And somehow Sam felt like finally, he could.

The thoughts and feelings he had buried so deep had made their way out into the open and somehow the world hadn't ended. At last, he had been able to express these things to someone else and instead of rejection and shame there had been comfort and understanding. And maybe there were thousands of people in the world who didn't have anyone they could trust enough to tell their secrets, but now he knew he wasn't one of them. He didn't have to fear what they feared because he had Dean.

"It's O.K," Sam said closing his eyes and huddling closer to his brother. "I'm alright."

"Good," Dean brought his other hand up to rest on Sam's head, gently anchoring Sam to him.

They sat for several moments before Sam broke the silence.

"You know something Dean," he said, sounding tired but content. "In spite of everything that I've gone through, I still believe I'm one of the luckiest people alive."

"Why?" Dean asked, the single word almost drowned out by a lengthy yawn.

"Because the person who means the most to me now knows my deepest, darkest, secrets and it hasn't changed a thing."

"Hey don't be so sure," Dean gently slapped the side of Sam's head. "I'm not above blackmail and I got the goods on you now."

Sam snickered dismissively.

"Somehow, I'm not worried."

**THE END**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks so much for reading this series. And for those of you who were wondering, yes, Dean had some pretty dark secrets too. You can read all about them in the follow up fic "The Awful Truth".


End file.
